Friday, May 30

This Girl is On fire!! Chicago Native Taylor Townsend that is. The 18 year old is seriously upsetting some of Frances top players and continuing to advance in the french open. She has become the Youngest U.S. player to make the third round since 2003. Townsend beat Alize Cornet the 21st ranked Player in the world, at Court Suzanne Lenglen, a court which seats over 10,000 spectators.Townsend is excited about the victory, but she hasn't taken her preparation for granted:

"The Sky Is The Limit". "I'm Happy but I've been preparing for these moments -- Hours in the gym, on the court, off the court." -Taylor told French reporters.

Townsend is ranked 205th in the world. She only qualified for the french open as a wild-card entry. She began her journey by beating another American Vania King in Monday's first round of the game. However, this isn't Townsend's first time making big headlines. She previously ranked no. 1 in junior tennis rankings and won the Australian Open Girls Singles Title in 2012 at the age of 15.

Check out Justin Breen discussing Townsend's victory in the Audio (below):
We wish Taylor much continued victory and success as she keeps going! Keep us updated on Taylor's progress in the comments section below. And keep following the convo with us at Trey Anthony's FanPage and Twitter. Let's Hear it!

Wednesday, May 28

POETS, AUTHORS, WRITERS, HUMANITARIANS, Everyone! Rise up and Salute!! R.I.P Dr. Angelou!! Today we will honor and always remember the legacy of Dr. Maya Angelou. As news feeds and Televisions screens blow up with the breaking news. We will always remember the Impact this Amazing Writer made on the nation.Dr. Angelou almost has literally shown the whole world the power of the pen, with her excellence and achievement in literature and so many other fields. As reported from CNN: Maya Angelou, a renowned poet, novelist and actress whose work defied description under a simple label, has died, her literary agent, Helen Brann, said Wednesday.She died at her home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Brann said. A professor, singer and dancer, Angelou's work spans several professions. In 2011, President Barack Obama awarded her with the Medal of Freedom, the country's highest civilian honor.

Dr. Maya Angelou will always be remembered as the most phenomenal woman, not only in our nation, but in our hearts. R.I.P Dr. Angelou!!

The following is a brutally honest, account of my experience with depression. It may be a hard read for some. Please know, readers, especially family and friends, all is good over here. Life is good. I am okay. Better than okay. xo

I’m sitting in a library, far from home and my life, hoping to write something (quickly) that is worth reading for this week’s blog post. As I opened the computer and quickly checked my email, I received an article about black women and depression from a good acquaintance. Just reading the title, I thought why would she send this to me? How does she know?

A friend suggested that this week I write about something a little less funny, a little more serious. The only not funny thing I’ve been waiting to write about is depression. So, in the interest of being totally unfunny, here goes.

I have been living with depression since Wife and I started the journey toward a family. Before that, I certainly felt things “extra”. My family would agree that I have always been a deep feeler (or drama queen depending on who you ask). And of course I went to therapy, but hey, I’m a lesbian, it’s kinda our thing.

The anxiety and depression got really bad when I got pregnant with our first babe, Isaiah. She grew, so did my anxiety. My anxiety grew, so did my intense sadness. My sadness grew, and my anxiety took over. It grew until she was born. She died, the anxiety died, but sadness grew and grew. Like so many newly bereaved parents, I felt like my life was no longer worth living. It seemed so obvious to me, and so scary to Wife. Those days after Isaiah died, was the first time I truly wished that I were dead. Loads of therapy got me through that period, and life went on, offering up the most amazing, wonderful gifts in the form of living children.

Depression is a weird thing though, it goes dormant, but once you’ve been there – in that place of deep depression, I don’t think you are ever fully restored. Before I got pregnant with The Littles, the depressive feelings would creep up and I would drag myself back to therapy and tune-up my heart. It felt like I had run my engine into the ground, and I just needed things tuned up. But when I got pregnant with The Littles my engine just started to completely fall apart. The anxiety came back and I became truly obsessed with what was happening in my body. My OB sent me to a psychiatrist. I was medicated. I was sent to a social worker that specialized in maternal anxiety. I panicked. I counted kicks. I did everything I could to satisfy my overwhelming anxious feelings. I sat in this weird space desperately wanting the pregnancy to end because it was too scary and desperately wanting it to continue as long as possible so I could deliver healthy babies. My partner held me through these agonizing months and when I was just too broken, cared for and loved our children enough for the both of us. She was terrified that she would lose me and our babies. She was quietly strong, and quietly weakened by my sadness.

When the The Littles arrived – screaming, we celebrated and began the ridiculously hard work of raising five under five (four under 3). My crying was because of the hormones and sleep deprivation or because of a little guy with failure to thrive. It would pass. It didn’t pass. It got worse. So much worse. I often called Wife sobbing from the car with crying babies in the background. “I can’t do this. You have to come home. Please.” In those days, I would nurse babies and close my eyes and imagine ways I could end my life. It got to a point where I couldn’t even stop the thoughts, they were just in my head all the time. Sometimes, I would pick up a happy babe and offer them a nursing because I realized that while I was holding them, I couldn’t go anywhere no matter what thoughts were running through my head. I would share these thoughts with Wife but reassure her that it was fine, obviously I wasn’t going to actually kill myself. I wasn’t lying, although she didn’t believe me. I knew that my thoughts were just thoughts and not plans.

The funny thing is, the best reason I could come up with not to end my life was that everybody would be mad at me. They would hate me and think I was a horrible mother. For me, that would be the worst thing – for people to think that I was a horrible mother. Don’t worry family, I am overly focused on what people think of me, so I’ll be sticking around.

At some point though, I stopped being so sure that my thoughts weren’t becoming plans. I was in so much pain, the medication wasn’t working and I just didn’t trust myself. When I shared this with Wife, my mom and a dear friend they started panicking, which in turn made me worry more. I was looking for “Don’t worry, Ajike” and they were calling each other trying to figure out what to do.

For a while this was a horrible secret that a few of us shared about just how depressed I was. To the rest of the world I looked pretty good. Let’s be honest, people have low expectations for a mother of five young children including two sets of twins! My jokes were good, my cursing on point (F$*K can I curse!), and my kids were alive and happy and I was doing a reasonably good job as mama bear. Behind the scenes, I cried and I yelled. It was horrible. Eventually I accepted the advice of my psychiatrist and increased my dose of medication and added a new medication to the mix. I reluctantly agreed to take more help with the kids. And I prayed for things to change.

Right now things are pretty good. I mean I’m on 295mg of psychiatric drugs a day, but hey, it’s not such a bitter pill to swallow considering the alternative! Besides, the drugs thing is kind of funny. Wife and I joke that with every little person tantrum, it’s another 10mg of the good stuff! I suspect my psychiatrist father-in-law does not appreciate my humour, but when you’re waiting out a tantrum, it’s best to crack a few jokes.

This post is so much longer than I had intended, much more raw and less eloquent than I would have liked, but it’s truth. I’m suffering from, living with, and laughing through the shit-storm that is depression. So is my family, which I hate, but we kind of have this deal, that we’ll see each other through.

Thursday, May 22

Just wrapped up the workshop reading production of Black Mothers Don't Say I Love You presented at the Rock Paper Sistahs Festival in Toronto...

I must admit a truth, After the vast success of 'da Kink it has been challenging as a writer, for me to come up with new work, I was questioning myself and wondering could I possibly write something that would have the same impact as 'da Kink? I was actually "competing" with myself and kept asking, is this as "good" as 'da kink? I was scared, really terrified to put my work again out to the public... Thus, the premiere was very life affirming to me as a writer and artist, thank you to everyone who supported me through this journey. Much thanks to the amazing cast and a special shout out to Ngozi Paul and Ordena Stephens who are not only cast members, but truly Sistahs who believe in my work and have held my hand through this entire exploration phase of my new work.

Wednesday, May 21

Have you ever heard someone say, “I’ve always wanted twins!”? I was one of them. I thought it would be so cute and that it would be so great raising siblings that were, obviously going to be the best of friends. Twins are cute, and I think right now, our two sets of twins love to be with their belly buddy.

I actually didn’t think twins were that big of a deal until I had F & L! Miss O and G-Dog were small, slow to develop, babies. I could manage things with them and their big bro; so much so, that we thought we should add one more S-A kiddo to the mix. A few weeks into F & L’s life, I joined the local multiples group and started thinking more about what makes twins (or higher order multiples) unique. I needed to talk to people in the know. I needed to see families who have survived the early years of parenting multiples. I needed advice and discounts, Lord, did I need discounts! Raising five kids isn’t cheap! Anyway, the point is, when F & L came along, I finally realized that this twin sh*t is real!

I stupidly thought for a long time, twins were just two kids. You just do everything twice. Do not believe this. I was wrong. Twins are more than double. When you have twins, you actually are raising three entities with different temperaments. Why three? Take F & L. There’s F-Jammie and there’s Mr. Lee and then there’s this whole other “person” we interact with that is F & L put together. Let’s call it The Force. The Force is beautiful and funny and adorable. It is loving and creative. It is also fierce and way, way bigger than any of us.

The truth is, The Littles are hilarious. Think about how two year olds are portrayed in humorous parenting books or on the most cliché TV show, those are our kids. What looks like neglect to onlookers, is Wife and I just, throwing up our hands and surrendering to their wackiness, because we truly are not in control of The Force! It’s hard to explain, but I’ve collected a few moments to share with you so you have some sense of just what life is like with The Force.

Seen: Literally half of the toys in the playroom piled into the bathroom.

Heard: We’re playing Hide & Zeke – F-Jammie

Seen: Entire bottle of hand sanitizer poured into leather boot and face painted with red lipstick…. At 8:15 am on a school day.

Heard: Fu*k it! - Mr. Lee many times a day

Seen: Two 2 year olds on chairs at the kitchen counter holding a knife, sharp scissors and a package of pepperetes, hovered over a bowl full of cheerios, water, milk and cherry tomatoes.... at 8am. I thought I’d go to the bathroom. This was a big mistake.

Heard: This conversation at 6:15 am:

L: Oh, I have pockets

F: I don’t have pockets

L: You can have this one.

F: Ok. Oh it’s too big

L: (inaudible mumbling)… that’s the deal!

Heard: Me: You cannot push your penis and vagina together! You just can’t!

Heard: F: L can you wipe my bum?

Heard: After learning to give fist bumps when they are pleased about something, this conversation happened back when they were still tandem nursing

Friday, May 16

Would love your honest opinion. Please comment below. My new play, Black Mothers Don't Say I Love You, will be presented in a workshop/reading production Saturday May 17th, 8:30 pm at the Rock Paper Sistahz festival in Toronto, Ontario. Get your TICKETS they are going fast!!

There has been some discussions around the title, people either love it or hate it, and I've had several folks email me about the title or wish to engage about the title. Thus, after the performance on Saturday we will be discussing the title, with the audience, and have members of the community on the panel to offer their feedback as well.

Art source: "The Pride Of Mothers" by Chide Okoye

I'm seriously thinking about changing the title and would love your honest feedback. Make sure you come to the reading as well. What emotional response if any, does the title, Black Mothers don't say I love you, evoke in you? Leave your comments below in the comments section.

Wednesday, May 14

Last weekend was glorious. The weather was perfect for backyard shenanigans. With the help of our outdoors-loving kids, our house resumed the familiar look of spring and summer – sand from the sandbox all over the floor, cast-off sweaters hanging off the chairs, and water bottles and empty snack bowls on the shelf by the backyard door. Everything is easier and messier in the warmer weather.

As if the weekend needed any improvement, I also had the pleasure of celebrating mother’s day with my family, but mostly with my own terrific mom. We went for lunch and manicures and pedicures. It was pretty heavenly! My mom was adorably excited to hang out with me and commented on how nice it was to have a conversation (or several) without being interrupted by her darling, but demanding, grandchildren.

My mom and I have always been close, maybe even too close if you ask my siblings and Wife. Growing up my mother always worked – a lot. Regardless of her heavy work schedule, she always made special time for us, especially me - the needy youngest child. She took me for quick after school trips to the park between her day job as an education consultant and her evening work teaching university courses. When I got older, she’d slip away, shed off her school principal image and pick me up at school to take me for lunch. It was such a treat.

On Saturdays we would go shopping (an activity, to my mother’s dismay, I no longer enjoy) or I would tag along when she went to speaking engagements or travelled to lead workshops. I quietly sat at the back with my toys and books and watched people listen to my mom. I knew her work was important and that people really respected her, but I just liked being with her and was pretty happy to do so anywhere, at any time.

When my mom was elected to the provincial government, it became even clearer that I had this amazing mom, but her office at the provincial legislature was just another place for my friends and I to go after school to wait for a drive home. When I’d call her office upset about a lousy mark on a test, her staff knew she’d take the call, no matter what. She belonged to her electorate and by extension the province but first, she was my mom.

My mom has been written about in history books. People to this day, long after she’s retired from politics and education, tell me that she’s a hero. I always smile and say, “yeah, she’s amazing, but to me, she’s just my mom.” I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I am incredibly proud of my mom. She is amazing and brilliant, incredibly stylish (voted one of the best dressed seniors by a major newspaper) and incredibly accomplished. She is a bit of a queen (you know what that makes me, right?). She always wants to do something “crazy” so she’s great in a private karaoke room or a lesbian bar but she’s a bit scary and seemingly unfriendly when you first meet her; but once she’s comfortable, she a whole mess of fun! To her eight grandchildren she is Big Nanny and so, so, so wonderful.

With a mom like mine, you may not be surprised to learn that as an adult, I often feel like I don’t live up to her expectations and that I’m a bit of a disappointment. This is about me, not her. My mom isn’t quiet about how she feels about her kids. She thinks we’re pretty fantastic and is happy to provide us, or anyone who asks an alphabetized list of the many ways.

I recognize my accomplishments in my career as an educator as well as my accomplishments as a parent. I know that even writing this blog, regardless of how many people read it, is a big accomplishment. I can’t help feeling, however, that in spite of my accomplishments, I am not and will probably never be, as successful as my mother in the same type of public ways. We have chosen entirely different paths for our adult lives. I’ve chosen to be, predominately a full-time mom at home and she chose to be a full-time mom that works outside of the home (I think that all parents parent full-time in some way or another.). She chose, for a while, a very public life, and I have chosen to keep life pretty quiet except for all the small humans that occupy my home and heart.

My mother would tell you that we both sometimes get stuck thinking that because we have chosen such different paths that somehow we both feel judged by the other. My brother and sister would tell us both to get over it and stop being so concerned about what the other does and thinks. My brother and sister pride themselves on being much wiser than their baby sister and much less inappropriately obsessed with the feelings, thoughts and actions of our mother.

Here’s what I know, my mother is the most incredible woman I know because of all the things that strangers, colleagues and friends know about her but mostly because she taught me so much about loving the hell out of your kids the best way you know how each and every day. Sometimes that love looks like co-sleeping and sometimes it looks like kisses goodbye on the cheek of a 6 week old baby on the way out the door to work. For my mom, it meant both of those things. My mother doesn’t apologize for how she loved and continues to love us – not because she believes that she has made no mistakes as a mother, but because she has always loved us the best way she could and that just has to be good enough. I am thick headed but I think that’s what she’s trying to teach me as a much newer and younger mom. For me, this may be her best lesson – no workshop required.

Thank you for letting me use this space to celebrate my mom just days after Mother’s Day. Happy Day Ma!

For all of you who do mothering work, regardless of the name you wear, I hope that you were well feted this Mother’s Day. For those of you who are mothers whose children are far and for those of you who are children whose mothers are far, I hope you found space on Mother’s Day to celebrate in your own way.

Friday, May 9

Just in time for Mothers' Day, Trey Anthony Studios will be presentingBlack Mother's Don't Say I Love You at this year's Rock, Paper, Sistahz Theatre+ Festival in Toronto, Ontario.

The showcase is being presented Saturday, MAY 17th, 8:30 p.m. at Daniels Spectrum.

Come out to support the festival and take a sneak peak at the thought-provoking new play before it hits Broadway!! "Black Mother's Don't Say I Love You" is set to be inspirational, insightful, and thought provoking. We'll be presenting alongside other amazing, talented writers and artists such as Ngozi Paul, Catherine Hernandez, Amanda Parris and many more. These "Sistahz" will be rockin' the house with their new work.

Black Mothers Don't Say I Love You

The workshop production of Black Mothers Don't Say I Love You is being Directed by award winning playwright and Governor General recipient playwright, 'djanet sears and we're looking forward to a special meet and greet. All of the the Playwright, Director and Actors will be in attendance for an intimate talk back/discussion on the piece.

Their will be other exciting festivities going on at the festival as well: writing workshops, Exclusive Breakfasts, and panels just to name a few. Look forward to seeing new work by some of the most brilliant artists in theatre. The Presentations will be Presented as a part of the Annual Theatre + Festival of New Works, Rock, Paper, Sistahz13, and 23 hours Live.

The Playwrights, Directors, and Actors will all be in attendance, The Festival is hosting a special Late Night Dance Party with DJ L'O Quenz, a pancake breakfast with the artistic directors, and much more. It's a Win-Win for all!

Tuesday, May 6

Before I begin today’s post, I just want to take a minute to hold space for the girls, as well as their families, who are missing in Nigeria. We are praying for your return.

You may not know this about me, but I can be a little slow on the uptake. Sometimes I have to make the same mistake over and over again, before I a) recognize my mistake as an actual mistake and b) vow not to repeat it.

As a parent, I make plenty o’ mistakes. It is possible that as a stay-at-home parent I have even more opportunities to make mistakes while interacting with my children. It is also possible that our eldest Z has been the recipient of my ghastly parenting mistakes more than any of our other children. He has, after all, been around the longest but I think there’s more to it.

Here’s some radical truth telling:

I am harder on my seven year old little Big guy Z than I am on my other four kids. I am not proud of this.

My expectations are often too high and my frustration when he does not meet my expectations is also too high. This is not okay.

My tough approach with him is about me, not him. He’s a small human and I need to keep my crap in check.

My belief in his abilities is about what I know to be true about him.

I love our Big all that there is. I need to parent him in a way that he feels my love. Even when I’m frustrated or scared or without wine. (The wine thing is real. I am slightly more agreeable while sipping on a glass of white wine.)

Why the public confession? This morning I had a brief conversation with the principal at my kids’ school. We were late, so she greeted us. Because she was the first adult I had come in contact with, I said to her “I’m so frustrated with him!” pointing at Z. She asked what was going on and I explained that according to his teacher, he continues to be too distracted and social in class and as a result he is not completing his work. I told her that he is sitting at a desk by himself – something he’s totally okay with as he knows he needs space from others, but is refusing to use other strategies that the teacher and I have suggested to help him focus better. His mind is all over the place and although he is capable of completing his work, he can’t focus.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time urging my unique, social butterfly to play the school “game”. Do the work; ask for help when it’s needed and be kind to everyone. While I’ve never said this, I just want him to lay low and simultaneously stand out - at the right time and in the right ways. Frankly, I am raising a black boy fully aware of the long history of racism in our school systems. I have seen school offices disproportionately frequented by black boys and I am terrified that my boy will be one of them. Like so many other black boys, I am afraid that he will be seen as a trouble maker because he’s squirrelly and right now, less interested in school and more interested in pop stars, fashion (I should write a whole post about his fashion statements.) and the grade two girls! He loves school but is not particularly concerned with learning. He talks too much and quietly daydreams all day.

So I’m on him. I nag him. I don’t let up. But something happened today when I was talking to the principal. She said that Z is stubborn and maybe he needs the threat of working in the principal’s office to get him to focus. I told her that the office is like a playground for a distractible person and that the teacher and I would continue to find ways to help him within the classroom. I walked away feeling like she was pointing the finger and blaming Z instead of considering his learning needs. She thinks this is all his fault and that he is not completing his work on purpose. In truth I don’t know that the principal thinks poorly of Z. She has actually been very supportive in many ways of our family since we joined the school community. I believe that we are all, including her, doing what we believe is the best for the children at the school, however, I don’t always agree with the approach.

My boy is not stubborn. To be honest, he so easily distracted that I don’t think he could be stubborn even if he wanted to! If he can’t get his work done because he’s talking and daydreaming; if all the other kids to whom he is talking can complete their work but he can’t, maybe this little situation isn’t his fault at all.

He’s seven. He’s creative and smart, charming and articulate – oh and precocious as hell. What is the school doing to make sure that he learns and gets the most out of the could-be engaging curriculum? As a teacher, I try to remember that if the kids aren’t learning, I’m not actually teaching. As a little guy in grade one, he is still learning to learn and he deserves teachers who are learning to teach in a way that that can happen.

I’m not saying teaching is easy and I’m not saying that my son’s teacher isn’t doing everything that she knows to help him, but I am saying that I am done begging him to just play the school “game”. I’m his mom. I love him all there is. I will continue to insist that any time he spends in the office is because of truly abhorrent behaviour and not incomplete work. I will make every effort to try to re-teach what he hasn’t learned in class in a way that takes into consideration him as a learner. I will fight for him to be seen for who he is and I will do what it takes to make sure that he continues to love school and with any luck, loves the learning that can take place there.

Every so often I leave my little ones notes at the breakfast table. Tomorrow I will leave this for Z:

To my Z,

I am so sorry that I get too angry, too often about your work at school. It is the grown-ups job to work together to help you be the best that you can be at school and beyond. I know that you are trying hard and that you want to follow your teacher’s rules and meet her expectations. I promise to help find ways to make learning at school better for you and speak to you about school in a way that is loving and understanding.

You are amazing, creative, smart, funny and kind. Mommy and Mama love you more than you know.

Friday, May 2

By now you've probably heard the issue with Donald Sterling making headlines all over the news. The "former" owner of the L.A. Clippers NBA team didn't want his bi-racial girlfriend to bring other Black people to any of the basketball games. An audio recording was released of Sterling making racist comments, now he has received a Ban for life from NBA commissioner Adam Silver. He also has to cough up 2.5 million dollars as a fine for the damages of his ignorance.

In ode to the remarks made on tape, the team decided to make a statement of their own by turning their shirts inside out in shame of the owners brand.

hey guys...we can still see the logo...

anyhow, In response to the Clippers actions, Rapper Homeboy Sandman wrote an essay that won heavy rotation on social media. Few people heard of his music, or knew his name before the "Black People Are Cowards" piece dropped online. The artist's prose came across as empowering, eloquent , totally Bill Cosby approved. However, different critics disagree with the rapper and took out the time to pen their response. Kimberly Foster, founder of the online magazines For Harriet and Coloures is among the most noted voices of opposition.

In her follow-up piece"Who's the Coward?: The Flawed Logic of Faux Revolutionaries" , Kim basically calls his piece unrealistic and well... a bit racist. I'm hopefully guessing that Sandman chose the specific blog title, and open agreement with Sterling's opinion in his introduction for shock value. The battle still continues.

In more news on the story, Oprah is also as outraged about the situation as everyone else. It's even rumored that she may be buying the Clippers team herself. She said She "thinks it would be a great thing for an important black American to own the franchise" and Donald Sterling is lost in the past. "It's not slavery time". Many reporters in the industry are speculating that Magic Johnson should own the team. The verdict is currently still out. A sports business reporter for ESPN discusses the current worth of the team in the video (below):

What do you think of the fiasco? Should Magic Johnson step up to the plate? Are you Team Kim or Team Sandman? ...and did anybody else know NBA Franchises were worth so much money?...geez. Share your thoughts in the comments section and follow the convo on Trey's Anthony's Fan page. Let's Here It!

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trey anthony

trey anthony. Creator, writer, producer, and actor of the hitplay/show 'da Kink in my hair. Currently I'm a work in progress. Trying to be a better person each day. Madly obsessed with Oprah. I want to be on her network, so I'm just putting it out there to the Universe! Loves to observe life. A writer, a daughter, a sister, a lover, a business womyn. I love call display so I can avoid answering people's calls! I love curling up with a good book! Dig passionate conversation with smart, passionate, inspiring people. Secretly eats chocolate brownie ice-cream whenever depressed or happy. I write my best "stuff" when I'm angry. I snoop on people's pictures on facebook even though i have no idea who they are! Trying to always poop and scoop when out with my dog, but I definitely do when others are watching. I have natural hair but sometimes have weave envy. Really seriously thinking about creating a family, love kidz!.... A lover of books and life!